Subject 01: Dirk Strider
by dameserdaigle
Summary: <html><head></head>Subject 01 has lived in the compound for as long as he can remember - longer than anyone other than 02. All he has to suggest that there was a time where he had a home and a family is a name on his door: Dirk Strider. But it's foolish to question any further when nothing ever changes... And then things do. And 01's whole world comes crashing down around him.</html>
1. Prologue

Subject 01 remembered little of life before and he supposed it was better that way. He saw what it did to 03. Made her soft. Made her a target. Made her cry at night for a father that was never coming to get her – a father who probably wasn't even still alive.

For his part, 01 could only remember one little piece of his past, and it didn't even come from his own mind. It was on his door, a typed out card slipped into a small metal plaque. He'd stared at it for hours on end before, trying to make the words mean something to him. Anything. But all they brought was the distant thought that they belonged to him.

Subject 01  
>Dirk Strider<p>

His name though it might be – and on his door, nonetheless – he and the other children, teenagers now, were banned from using it, or any of the other ones. They were told that names brought nothing but attachment, and attachment was a weakness. You couldn't kill what you were attached to.

Even still, he still liked seeing his name on the door. That subtle reminder that no matter what, he was still human. And as he walked down the hallway and passed the other doors, he habitually whispered the other names to himself.

03, Jane Crocker. 04, Jake English. 05, Meenah Peixes. All the way down to 16, Damara Megido.

He saved the door across from his own for last. As a show of rebelliousness, 02 had painted her door pink. It didn't matter how many times it was changed back to white, how many times she was punished, how many times her painting privileges were suspended… The door always ended up pink again. It made him smile, a little bit. She had a way of doing that.

02, Roxy Lalonde, was the only person who had been here quite as long as he had. He could vaguely remember running through the halls at the age of four, laughing and giggling at the game the two of them were playing… This was back when he actually laughed and giggled. He couldn't remember meeting her, or really anything before there had been a white building with no windows except to show the training amphitheater. As far as he could tell, he hadn't been anything before he'd been handed a gun and told that someday all of them would save the world and it would be worth it. There was nothing to go back to before he and 02 – he and Roxy – had been shooting at a target, boasting that each could do better than the other, only to stop and watch as a terrified 03 and 04 were brought in.

There was nothing before that except the painful realization that he had a name. That he wasn't just 01. That there had to be more to him than the human machine that knew its purpose and knew better than to deal with human attachment because human attachment was weakness… But that couldn't possibly apply to the girl with the pink door who leaned in close to his ear during training and whispered, "race you to the moon tonight, Dirk."

And it was on those rare, rebellious nights that he got those instructions that it really mattered to him. Sneaking out of his room and running into the amphitheater – already turned on by that rebellious girl – onto a path he knew well, winding through the illusionary scene that ended in a white sphere that he and 02 had always called the moon. For what were two kids who couldn't even remember what the moon looked like supposed to call it? He'd crawl underneath and wiggle his way inside, navigate the vertical obstacle course and make it to the top where she was always waiting, grinning like a fool, her pleased, "I beat you" sing-songing. But of course she beat him. He always let her go first.

They'd lay up there and look at the ceiling. "I wonder what the stars really look like," she would say, and he'd shrug. "I wonder what the world is like," she'd say. "Shitty." And like that they'd go, back and forth until she fell asleep, snuggled into him. It was then that he'd allow it all to break down and he'd stroke her hair and sigh because whenever her questions did get answered, who was to say that they'd live long enough to remember it. That was the danger. Shitty or not, the four walls of the compound and the amphitheater were safe.

But curiosity is not something easy satisfied by safety. These rebellious nights made him yearn for the world outside. A world where 03 wouldn't cry because she'd be safe with a father who called her Janey. Where 04 didn't get fewer meals every time he slipped up into a verbal pattern clearly picked up from the grandmother he talked about – the grandmother he had watched die in a bombing. "It's all I have left of her," he'd once said, quietly. "But they say it makes me stick out. Golly, I don't want to stick out…" One less meal.

His biggest desire, however, wasn't quite so drastic. He just wanted to be out in a world where 02 could be Roxy and he could be Dirk. Human teenagers with human teenager names. Nothing too drastic. Nothing that should be too difficult.

Sliding off the moon and carrying 02 back to bed, he would shake these thoughts away. They were ridiculous, after all. He had nothing to show him that the outside world would be kind. Why would they train kids in this way if it was? Whatever was going on, they were better inside… For once they were let out, he knew it was for one purpose only. To fix what was too broken to be fixed.

Thus, most of the time, he pushed thoughts of Dirk Strider out of his head. What was important was to train well, to be a good leader for his little team, to make sure that the experimental unit trained well… Something a little difficult when the experiments of the trainers had left 12 deaf, 14 mentally destroyed beyond repair, 07 refusing to talk because of whatever had been done to him and whatever he had seen happen to the others. Everything happened for a reason and he had no cause to believe that the trainers were trying to be cruel. It was easy to ignore any and all of the bad when everything stayed the same.

And then it didn't. A chronic insomniac, he patrolled the halls after midnight to ensure that everyone was alright. That's when he saw the door open. The door to hall C, normally closed and locked, completely empty when it wasn't. To see it open at night was unheard of. So he went in.

The first thing he noticed were the plaques on the doors. Curiously similar to those of his team and the experimental unit, he went over to one. Sure enough, it had the familiar typing.

Subject 18  
>Rose Lalonde<p>

He could almost feel his heart stop at the last word. His mouth formed it, slowly, and he pushed open the door – movements forcefully controlled. There, on the bed, in a sleep too deep to be anything other than tranquilizer induced, was a girl – around the age of fifteen, he thought – who looked far too much like 02. He backed out of the room and closed the door, shaking his head. An anomaly. Couldn't possibly mean anything.

Slowly, he forced himself to turn and face the door across from 18's. He could see the plaque on it, but his eyes refused to focus. Refuse to let him believe – maybe it was hope, maybe it was horror – just what he might find.

Stepping closer, an inspection made his stomach drop out from underneath him.

Subject 17  
>Dave Strider<p>

His opening of the door was much less controlled this time. His movements felt almost manic. And the boy on the bed could be a carbon copy of himself – just younger. Different hair. But sleeping in that same sprawled way that he did. He could hear the trainers in his mind. "Soldiers sleep straight. Keep yourself rigid. Always be ready for an attack." He remembered his younger self getting frustrated and saying that sleep should be the time he got to relax. He'd been punished for that. He hadn't slept a full night since.

As he watched, the boy started to shift and wake. He straightened as he watched, falling into a soldier's ready position. This could be a trap. The similarities were too strong for the possibility to be ignored. 17 sat up and rubbed at his eyes. The yawn he produced was wincingly loud – it would be something that had to be trained out of him.

He stopped breathing when their eyes met, but was surprised by an easy grin spreading across 17's face. And then the words came.

"Damn, bro, it's about time."


	2. Chapter 1

Reminder of known numbers

01: Dirk Strider  
>02: Roxy Lalonde<br>03: Jane Crocker  
>04: Jake English<br>05: Meenah Peixes  
>16: Damara Megido<br>18: Dave Strider  
>19: Rose Lalonde<p>

Other people should be easy to guess. Props to those that figure out the pattern. It's... Pretty simple.

* * *

><p>Chapter 1<p>

They'd been more rebellious as children than they were now. Not that sneaking out at night and running the course wasn't rebellious – but it was rebellious in an entirely different way. Children didn't like being run through endless drills. Children didn't like going to bed sore every night. Children didn't like being yelled at for the slightest transgression that had more to do with underdeveloped motor skills than it did a lack of knowledge regarding what to do. And children didn't like never having any time to be children.

01 had learned pretty quickly that it was better not to be overtly disobedient. It took 02 a little bit longer – and he supposed that even now, she wasn't fully aware of it. The pink door was a symbol of that. But she certainly didn't act like she had used to – like he had used to. Back when they were foolish children frustrated at being treated like soldiers.

The most memorable time was when he had broken his leg. They'd stuck him in the infirmary for a few hours, injected him with something, and put a splint on. Then they told him to run two laps around the track as punishment for getting hurt. They said what they always had back when he was young and couldn't understand what it meant. "You have to pay for damaging our investment." He tried not to think about those words now. They made him – and everyone else stuck inside the compound – sound like things that could be bought and sold.

Always having been strong, he had been ready to do it. He was nauseous from the pain and felt like he was going to cry, but was going to do it. Without tears, of course. He never cried. Soldiers didn't cry. And whenever he was feeling close to tears, he would think about that plaque on his door and think, with as much certainty as he possibly could, _Striders don't cry_. It felt right. Like his name said something about strength.

It was that day that he learned, he supposed, that 02 was even stronger than he was. She stepped in front of him just as he was about to start running and lifted her rifle. Back then, it was just about as big as she was. First, she pointed it handlers, eyes sparkling with a rage he'd never seen in them before. Then she turned it, jammed it right under her chin.

"Make him run and I'll shoot."

Damn, had she gotten in trouble for that. But he hadn't had to run. And they understood then, as the panic had set in on the faces of the handlers that kept them from being children, just how important an investment they truly were.

Such drastic displays of rebellion faded out around the time they were eleven. Some of it was tempered by having to look out for everyone. When it had just been 03 and 04 it had been easy, but as all the others slowly trickled in – and things started happening to them – they realized that they had to be the strong ones. They couldn't allow others to believe it was okay to defy so openly. Every time someone else went without food, it was a personal failure. So there were no more guns jammed under chins.

Silence was 01's favorite form of rebellion. As a handler barked orders at him, he would stay silent. When he was going through some particularly grueling training that left him battered and bruised, he would stay silent, even when he was being shouted at to surrender. The frustration on the handlers' faces was enough to let him know that they disliked not getting any sort of reaction and his plan worked well.

He once asked 07 if the real reason for his constant silence was to get back at the adults in the compound. The only response he received was the same, rather disturbing smile that the other boy always had. It was always a surreal experience, talking to 07. That guy was a master.

As it turned it, being able to stay quiet was a useful skill. It easily translated into the ability to sneak around and eavesdrop. Continuing the unspoken rule that it was necessary to share all knowledge of what was going on in the compound with 02, he would let them both into the air vents. They would crawl until they were above the big meeting room and listen in to what was being said.

Usually it had to do with things they already knew. 03 was having frequent nightmares. 04 was still having issues adjusting to modernized speech patterns. 06 had been caught masturbating in the bathroom instead of training again. 09 should move into specialized strategy training instead of continuing to focus on combat training – that was where her real talent was. And 16 was still refusing to speak in English, even under the threat of revoked meal privileges. Being a deluge of information that was either said during training or pretty common knowledge, they sometimes wondered why they even bothered.

The appearance of 17 brought him back to one particular instance when it was very clear why they bothered.

They'd been up in the vents for nearly an hour and 01 was starting to get a little stiff. 02 covered up a yawn and pressed her face to the vent, staring down at the people sitting around the table. They had been talking about 07's muteness, his personal handler voicing his frustration and asking for permission to use harsher punishments. The permission had, luckily, not been given. The topic had moved on to 16 – who was brought every single time.

"I cannot keep catering to her." 16's handler was a suave man, platinum hair slicked back, green bow tie perpetually tied around his neck. "I may speak Japanese, but the commands she is meant to respond to will be given in English on the field. And it isn't as if we can have 15 yelling translations to achieve a response when they are trying to dodge bombs."

There was the sound of a pen being clicked in and out. "We have tried everything to get her to respond to English," said another handler, slowly. "She clearly understands the words but is determined not to give in. It is a matter of stubbornness now, not simple disobedience or fright. We just… Need a way to reach her. Make her understand that her ability to respond to commands is not simply a matter of her own safety, but of the safety of the many."

"Maybe it's time then." The new voice spoke so quietly that 01 and 02 had to lean in to her. "Maybe we should bring in the others. Some of them remember the other group very vividly – 16 was particularly protective of 32 and sometimes, in the night, 12 cries out for 28…"

They were cut off by a man standing up, shaking his head. "We cannot risk compromising the experiment like that. The other group is not meant to be… To be cuddle buddies. They are supposed to be ruthless. Bringing them in may fix some of the issues of their older siblings, but it would entirely ruin their own purpose!"

01 and 02 exchanged looks at that, eyes wide. Siblings? They missed the next few words spoken in their surprise, but quickly leaned back in, desperate to hear more.

"We shall continue the experiments as planned. When the time is ripe, we shall merge the groups and perhaps having her sister back will, yes, cause 16 to be less… Troublesome. Meanwhile, we have to continue training our leaders. Speaking of which, how is 01 coming along?"

Hearing his number brought up caused 01 to start heading back, 02 hot on his heels. They never liked hearing about themselves, always leaving when this part of the conversation started up. Neither of them liked hearing how proud their handlers were of them – what good little soldiers they were becoming. It was a painful reminder of just how good of an investment they had turned out to be.

Usually, after returning from one of the meetings, they would sit on 02's bed and 01 would listen to her talk, cheerfully going over how stupid the handlers were, how they missed all the little things about everyone, and wondering how they had possibly missed 10 and 14 hand-making skateboards and zipping through the halls, whooping at the top of their lungs, a clearly punishable offense. But that night they sat there in silence, trying to take it all in.

"Did they say…" 02 finally said, her voice softer than he had ever heard it.

"Yeah."

"Does that mean we…?"

"Probably."

"How come nobody ever mentioned…?"

"If you remembered a little monster and then you were taken away from them, would you be trying too hard to remember what you'd lost?"

She looked down, staring at her hands. "Probably not."

And the two of them sat there, staring into space for more than an hour, enlightened with the realization that somewhere, somehow, there were two little monsters that belonged to them in a way they had never even thought about. And said little monsters were supposed to be… Ruthless.

Looking at 17 with his easy grin and casual "damn, bro", ruthless was not the first thing that came to mind.

And all surprise had to be pushed away when the alarm went off and both of their heads jerked up. "Security breach," said a calm female voice over the intercom. "Security breach."

* * *

><p>Thanks to a comment by DragonflySky on ao3, I realized that somehow, things got messed up and everyone past 07 (yes, Kurloz) was one number off. Hopefully I've fixed that now!<p>

In answer to her question, no, there is no cherub between 07 and what was 10 but should be 09 (Aranea). The cherubs are involved, but entirely out of the numbering system.


End file.
